


Do not...

by zinabug



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Gently holds pure vessel, Heavy Angst, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Oh also a cw for. Heavily implied background character death, POV Second Person, The Infection (Hollow Knight), This needs a whole bunch of content warnings but I have no idea what, character study but I’m sad as fuck about all of it, i just think they’re neat, of a sort, the pale king is not a good dad, there’s a whole lot of very unhealthy repression of everything and stupid loyalty for the pale king
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:22:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28930935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinabug/pseuds/zinabug
Summary: Fold your hands over the pommel of your nail and stare across the room at the wall while your father circles you like a hunting beast, inspecting the silver-white metal pressing down on you like how you imagine the palace must feel crushing your shoulders.That is, if you could imagine.
Relationships: The Hollow Knight | Pure Vessel & The Pale King
Comments: 11
Kudos: 39





	Do not...

Hold still while your shoulders are measured for armor you know will be heavy and restrictive, hold still while the hands of the bug measuring you touch the back of your neck and are unpleasantly warm and sweaty. 

Stare straight ahead and don’t twitch when their antenna tapes your elbow.

Don’t even shift your shoulder to scratch the itch their unpleasant hands left. 

Stare blankly while father remarks on your new armor, don’t let yourself shake and pull it off like you so want too. Fold your hands over the pommel of your nail and stare across the room at the wall while your father circles you like a hunting beast, inspecting the silver-white metal pressing down on you like how you imagine the palace must feel crushing your shoulders. 

That is, if you could imagine. 

Don’t feel the frustration that swells up from somewhere muffled deep inside while you struggle with your sparring drills, the new armor rubbing and cutting into your neck and shoulders and far, far too heavy. Don’t get tired, just keep mechanically trying until someone notices the void leaking from the cuts the edges of the metal have left. Don’t feel sorry for the bug with unpleasant hands as your father orders them away somewhere and snaps for a smith who knows what they are doing. 

The next smith hums and smiles while she works. Don’t feel anything about that, just stand very still and watch her work because nobody gave you an order to sit. 

She offers a chair, talks to you, smiles. You have to act like a statue and you don’t want to sit and listen to her, you don’t want to be her friend, you can’t want anything. 

The next day, she is gone too, and the next smith has cold hands and is frightened of you. The armor they craft fits, yes, but it is heavy, holding down your shoulders, and still rubs on the back of your neck. 

You don’t miss her, of course. Can’t miss her, because you can’t feel anything.

_ Do not think.  _

Do not think about the little birds in the garden and what it must feel like to fly, do not think about the time a seamstress slipped you a candy that you had to drop on the floor, do not wonder what your father does all day locked up in his workshop. 

_ Do not feel.  _

Do not get frustrated when you spar for hours at a time with your heavy armor, do not wish you could thank the royal retainers, do not care about your father. Do not let yourself be gentle and soft with the little red-robed spider who palaces flowers into the loops on your horrible armor, making it just a little better. 

_ Do not want.  _

Do not want to make your father proud. He expects only perfection, and you are the last hope. You can’t want to make him proud. Can’t want to feel his hand on your shoulder and hear him say that you did a good job, can’t even want to protect the kingdom because that one small want will end it. 

You have to be pure. Perfect. Hollow. Run the mantras through your head, because it’s better than wondering and imagining and feeling. 

You have to have no mind to think, no will to break, no voice to cry suffering.

Do not think, do not want, do not love your father. 

_ Do not think about your siblings, rotting and sealed away in darkness below. Do not think about the vessel that climbed up to the edge of the balcony, the one who you let fall.  _

The light is a blessing, almost. It aches and it aches and it is a blinding rage that consumes any thought, feeling, wants… for a little while. 

Loyal, you wait, feeling the icy chains burn into your skin and the armor rub against your neck.

Loyal, you wait, and you do not want to make your father proud, you do not wonder if he is alright, do not wonder if the little red-robed spider is all grown. 

Slowly, slowly, the light and the rage grows, offering promises of rest and peace and freedom in oblivion. It is burning you away from the inside out. 

Do not want to rest for a while. 

_ Do not… _

It is so, very bright. 

_ father… _

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> The title is not very creative but my head is mostly empty with love for several bugs. I’m also sorry if this is tagged badly, it’s late and I’m tired. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! I’m on tumblr @two-am-art where I draw hornet badly sometimes.


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